


mercy.

by stygianalpha



Category: Dark Souls
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stygianalpha/pseuds/stygianalpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rest at bonfire. Fuck Creighton at bonfire. Close enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mercy.

**Author's Note:**

> it's a 'Make Your Own Context' fic 'cause i've got none
> 
> written cause my very best annoying friend told me i wouldn't. she was very wrong.  
> as such, i dedicate this to her.
> 
> find her over here -- http://sharkrocket.tumblr.com/ -- because it's her fault this exists at all.

There's a bonfire not even two feet away, lit and crackling and warm. Other than the pops as it burns, there is only his own harsh breathing and Creighton's badly disguised groaning. There's not even anyone nearby, living or undead. Literally nothing but stone walls. And Creighton, lying beneath him, legs loose around his thighs.  Which is fine — for now, anyway. Pate digs his fingers into Creighton's hips with enough force to leave bruises behind. He's moving slowly, rolling his hips at his own leisure, listening to Creighton groan and curse every time he moves.

It isn't as if he planned this. He had absolutely no intentions of pushing Creighton onto his back; he did have a little bit of an idea of what he was doing when he had slid a hand into the man's pants, though. And now Creighton is naked from the waist down and Pate's pants are pulled down. Every time their hips meet, the chainmail covering Creighton clinks together. It makes for a strange symphony when its mixing with the quiet noises they're making.

Their weapons lie discarded near the wall, the axe much closer than his own spear. While Pate had let his weapon drop before he even put his hands on the idiot, it wasn't until he had slammed into Creighton that the damned thing had finally been abandoned. 

Creighton's hands flex with every one of Pate's thrusts, fingers scraping and skating over the hard stone floor. He's refusing to even touch Pate, preferring to grasp at nothing. His head is thrown back and he's wrenched his eyes shut. As if he can pretend he isn't getting fucked by Pate, as if every quiet noise he makes isn't making it obvious that he's enjoying it.

But he's groaning and that's good enough. 

Pate adjusts his grip, pulling out just enough to slam back in — and he watches a shudder pass through Creighton's entire body, hears the shallow attempt that he makes at muffling a sharp noise of sheer pleasure. Pate laughs, short and low, and slams into the exact same spot. Creighton's answering insult is cut off with another groan, underlined with desire. At the next thrust, his hips meet Pate's. He keeps the same rhythm, hits the same spot, and soon Creighton isn't fighting against it anymore. Pate has fucked the stubbornness right out of the fool, and when Pate pulls one of his legs up, Creighton brings the other up as well. His legs are tight against Pate's waist now, stopping him from pulling out even a little bit.

So Pate winds his arm around Creighton's torso, grips him tightly, and speeds up. If he can't fuck Creighton with all the force that he wants — if Creighton wants to hold him where he is — then Pate is going to fuck him fast and hard.  He takes extra care to hit that one spot inside of Creighton that makes him shake. He can feel it now, every shudder that passes through Creighton, because he's holding the other man close to his own body. Pate holds onto him tightly, fingers pressing into the sweat-slicked skin and feeling the muscles tensing as he moves. 

When Pate's thrusts start to become erratic, when he can feel the heat rushing through his stomach, he moves one hand to hold onto Creighton's shoulder. Tries to hold him still, though Creighton is still bucking his hips up, meeting Pate's, crushing into Pate. 

Creighton isn't even trying to muffle the noises his making. Bent over him, Pate can hear every sound — and it’s amazing in a way it really shouldn’t be. That Creighton could sound like this, could _feel_ like this. The absolute best part is that it's Pate who has made him this way. 

Pate's eyes are unfocused, hands twisted in the fabric of Creighton's clothes. All he can concentrate on is the feeling of Creighton tensing in his grasp, the small noises that he can just barely hear, the legs squeezing around his waist. Pate's shoulders are shaking when he comes, panting and grunting. His movements slow until he stops, his muscles relaxing. He slides his arm from underneath Creighton, letting him fall back onto the stone. 

He rests his hands on Creighton's thighs and takes deep breaths to regain his composure. It's only then that he realizes that Creighton is still writhing beneath him. That Creighton is still aching for release, damn near squirming against Pate's hips even though the cock in his ass is soft. Pate looks at him and smirks, pulling out of him. 

And then Creighton's hands are grasping at him. At his clothes, his armor. His fingers are shaking as he finds purchase. He only says, "Pate..." So low and strained that it has to be forced out through gritted teeth. "Don't you dare." 

His voice is tinged with anger, but over that is desire and want. It sounds like he's begging, and that's the only reason Pate reaches down to take Creighton's cock into his hand. It only takes three strokes, hard and fast, for Creighton to come over his fingers. Pate strokes him still, slowly, until Creighton pulls his hands back. Then he just lies there, breathing harshly. Pate laughs quietly as he pulls away from Creighton to fix himself up. This is very likely going to brought up again later. There would no point to Creighton having begged if Pate wasn't to mock him for it.


End file.
